How times fluxes strangely
from the death of a loved one
until her interment.
Sobs wretch so forcefully
at the news,
that grief won't speak; it can't.
They days between are numb,
nothing real about them,
the worst kind of dream.
And then that loved one, you know
will walk through that door. No,
they are lowered slowly to rest.
Last, the dream is over,
a soul free,
but you have awaken.
And the pain is real.
Aeternam.
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